


Born to Die

by Kevv_Touches_Butts



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic), Marvel 616
Genre: Abuse by hypnosis, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Autistic Character, Bilingual Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Empathy, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Mental Illness, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lester's pottymouth, M/M, Medication, Mercenaries, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Mutant Original Character - Freeform, Past Drug Addiction, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Sexual Abuse, Smoking, Suicidal Ideation, Telepathy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Use of the word 'dyke', Will be adding more tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-03-21 05:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kevv_Touches_Butts/pseuds/Kevv_Touches_Butts
Summary: Elina "E" Coldwell, hit-person, burnout, and not-a-girl-interrupted, gets a second chance she can't turn down. An opportunity for her mutation to be useful, to escape her cage of abuse and control, and to have some real fun again. The offer she receives from a former partner is not what she expects, but she will find a way to make it work. She is finding it high time to stop tumbling aimlessly through life. It's time to be a part of something bigger.. And even if just for a little while, she finally has a clear shot at getting what she really wants.





	1. Prologue; Manic Monday

**Author's Note:**

> OK GUYS  
> This is pretty much the first serious thing I've written in YEARS. Ya'll are welcome to leave any edits or things that I screwed up/warnings or tags you would like to see/errors in the universe/other errors in the comments. Feedback is requested, as I'm always looking to improve. More chapters are always on the way, until its completion. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO MESSAGE ME FOR MORE INFORMATION.. Or, you know, if you just wanna chat about something silly like my Bullseye obsession or Daken's cute butt or whatever.
> 
> Yes, chapter names are songs. They're songs from a playlist I have made up for E.
> 
> My chief editor and idea-bouncing-wall is the wonderful GameraObscura of Fanfiction.net, a madly brilliant writer and one of my very favorite people. Go ahead and pay him a visit!

In a car, parked in the lot right outside of a suburban park near a cozy little corner of the Hamptons, on Long Island, New York, there are two men sitting in a car. They are deeply engrossed in conversation.

 

“She's over there. You stay; I'll talk to her.”

 

“Won't she be… displeased to see you, after all this time?”

 

Lester slams the car door shut behind him, and then bends down, talking to Daken through the rolled-down window. Smoke wisps out of the gap. “Probably. I'm not so peachy keen myself, but she trusts me. She doesn't know you.” He snickers, then continues. “She can probably sense you from here, right now. Her default with other muties is to assume a threat.”

 

“Isn't that what I am, darling?” Daken asks, grinning wickedly. He definitely means it.

 

“You're here because you didn't trust me not to run off. That's on you, shitface.”

 

With that, Lester turns away, and ambles as casually and unassumingly as possible over to a park bench in the middle of the nice little suburban park. It's a beautiful, sunny day, and there are children playing throughout the playground as their parents scattered all around. 

 

At the bench, sitting, there is a woman. She is holding a paper shopping bag, and smoking a thin cigarette, or more likely a machine-rolled joint. She has over-ear headphones on, blasting Latin pop that Lester can hear even from where he is. She is a small blonde, with olive skin, dressed in a long-sleeved grey cable knit sweater, and some athletic pants that don't quite fit her. They are a pair of pants Lester actually recognizes from her wardrobe, and that indicates she has lost some weight. Her hair is also significantly longer than he remembers, reaching her mid-back. It's very straight, and glistens like cornsilk. Before, it had been cropped short, growing in weak and unhealthy. She is dressed strangely for the weather, and her footwear doesn't match the rest of her outfit, which ends in a pair of worn black men's boots. It hits Lester that she probably walked there from whatever shop she had been in. Good. Less chance of her driving off the second she saw him, like she doubtlessly would, given the opportunity. 

 

She scans the parking lot when he gets nearer, dropping her cigarette mid-thought, as though she'd been hit by something. Her eyes lock onto Lester and she startles, a squeak escaping her. Her face is immediately colored with… what is that, mild inconvenience? Lester had expected more of a reaction. As he approaches, he feels the urge to stop near immediately the instant she has taken notice of him. 

 

“That was very fast, Doll,” Lester says, a grin spreading across his face, but the mirth does not reach his eyes.

 

She puts one of her headphones behind her ear, scowling irritably. “What do you want? How could you possibly have a reason to be passing through here?” the woman hisses. 

 

The hand that had held her cigarette previously, raises a fraction. Odd that it was her right-hand, as she'd been left-handed before.

 

Lester weighs the risks momentarily, and takes a gamble. “I'm not here by chance. I came here for you.”

 

Her finger twitches, and he is hit with a wave of influence, gently and starkly encouraging him to reveal every weapon on his person. Not give them to her, just show them to her. He tries to convince himself he hadn't anticipated this kind of reaction. Glancing around for cameras or onlookers and finding none in sight, he turns out his pockets. A paperclip, a penny and a dime in the left. In the right, a lighter, a pack of Lucky Strikes with a single cigarette in it, and a credit card lent to him by a man named Norman Osborn. Behind the credit card is a playing card. An Ace of Spades.

 

She bursts out laughing at him. It was a rough, bitter laugh, ending in a short cough. “Wow. All that to take me out? I'm flattered you think so highly of me.”

 

“This isn't for you, Princess. It's for someone else, but I'll tell you all about it after you come with me. Just let me explain; I'd be endlessly happy it if you wouldn't make my brain explode instead of listening to me.” His tone is just the slightest bit frantic; somehow, she seems more dangerous than before. 

 

For a split second, he feels an impulse to do with the paperclip to himself what she has seen him do to countless others. Anything, literally anything, could be a lethal weapon in his hands, even a little paperclip. The urge goes away as fast as it came. It was a show of dominance between them, proof positive that she could still get into his head.

 

He chuckles earnestly, only a little afraid. “Love,” he purrs disarmingly. “There's no reason to start a fight you can’t finish.”

 

His hold on himself, that had tightened every muscle in his body, loosens, and he goes visibly slack. She's still weak in the knees for him when he acts like that.

 

“What makes you think I would go anywhere with you, Les?” she snaps, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. Her head falls forward, and she looks exhausted. 

 

“Maybe I was  just hoping I could talk to you again? Come on, wherever you're staying, it must be close. I can call us a cab.”

 

“You didn't bring a phone. That means you aren't here by yourself. That means whatever  _ else _ I'm detecting is with you.” She hunches over a moment, sighing. After a moment, she picks her head up. “Since you turned the charm way up, and I'm not being massacred for what I just did to you, that must mean this isn't an ambush. Just to be safe, though-”

 

She trails off as her hand lifts again, and Lester braces for death. Instead, nothing happens to him, but the air around them feels completely still and stale somehow. It is as if they are in a room together and not in a park full of fresh air. Even the sounds around them calm down a bit, to a soft muffle. When his involuntary flinch softens, he looks down at her. “What's that? Something new?”

 

“Something I could have shown you if you'd stuck around,” she says, and a moment later stands up. She discards the shopping bag, the contents spilling on the bench, and draws nearer. They are breathing the same air when she speaks again. “There has been  _ so much  _ going on, Les. I really could have used you here.”

 

“Let's talk about it, Lamb. I'm not here to hurt you.” He says, and it must have struck a chord with her, because her tired grey eyes brighten just a tiny bit. 

 

She reaches out to touch him, and Lester braces himself again. She's never touched him without wishing him harm. 

 

To his surprise, her fingers- with their shimmery oval-shaped nails- are soft as they touch his stubbly cheek, and he surprisingly doesn't feel the sensation of her leeching anything from him. No feelings, no thoughts or intentions. Only of her stroking his face. He is terrified. She has never been able to touch him before.

 

“This is only dangerous now if I get caught off guard. That's pretty hard to do.” She draws her hand back after a moment, pulling it into her sleeve. 

 

He is oddly almost saddened by the loss of touch, and reaches out, slowly enough for her to stop him if she wants. He grasps her hand in the sleeve, holding, or more gripping it, in wonder. The sweater is soft, and her hand is cold as it presses against his bare hand through the gaps in the knit of the sweater. He's never been able to even touch her hand before, either.

 

She is visibly shaking when he releases her hand back into her own keeping, and she tucks it under her other arm, raising an eyebrow at him in confusion. No change there. “Les...”

 

“We do certainly have much to talk about, then,” he says, measuring his words carefully. As fascinating and game-changing as this is, he now has no accurate information on her any longer. Everything that he had told Norman had been rendered inaccurate by her merest touch.

 

“Let's take your friend and go back to my house. My car is in a safe lot, it can be picked up later.” She says as she grabs his frayed denim jacket and tugs a bit as she walks past. It's a playful gesture. 

 

He takes the bait, catching up and leading her back to the car her hand in his this time, and it feels like Seattle all over again. 


	2. Chapter 1; Daddy's Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to pick up a bit from here. You learn more about what's going on. Daken is kind of a hoe. Lester acts like a dick.  
> Content notice for obnoxious rich wypipo toward the end of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are welcome to leave any edits or things that I screwed up/warnings or tags you would like to see/errors in the universe/other errors in the comments. Feedback is requested, as I'm always looking to improve. More chapters are always on the way, until its completion. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO MESSAGE ME FOR MORE INFORMATION.. Or, you know, if you just wanna chat about something silly like my Bullseye obsession or Daken's cute butt or whatever.

“I thought you said that touching her was dangerous!” Daken shouts, hanging out the driver’s side window. He takes a moment to study her, looking her up and down. “My, what a little snack you are. He didn't tell me you were gorgeous.”

 

“You must be the other mutant I sensed; I guess I wasn't wrong,” she says, taking her hand back from Lester and balling it into a fist at her side. “Who the fuck is that, Les?” 

 

Daken laughs; before Lester can respond, she wrinkles her nose, as if confronted by an unusually odious smell. She walks up to the car, and sets her hand on the hood, leaning over; her other hand still in a fist. “You two aren't starting a fight already, are you?” Lester calls after them. “Not without me.” He stops short when he feels the air getting thin. Daken has already pissed her off.

 

“That shit that you're putting out toward me? With your emotions, and that other thing I can tell is definitely coming from you? You’d better stop,” she says flippantly, her posture changing in seconds from almost-friendly to a simmering hostility that threatened to boil over at any second.

 

“They're pheromones, and I'm surprised you can detect them,” he says, “Honestly, half the time I can't help it.”

 

“I suggest you start trying.  Now.” She frowns, and white-knuckles the hood of the car. “Wait; I bet I know exactly what you are.”

 

“Quick to catch on. Why don't we head to where we're going first, though. We can talk about this all you like later,” Daken purrs. Subtly, he reaches out and touches her arm. Lester watches, slack-jawed; Daken is clearly playing with fire right now. The rush Daken is feeling shows on his face, while she seems somehow more tolerant about it than any touch she'd ever endured in Lester’s time knowing her.

 

Lester feels a knuckle pop in his hand as he tightens his fist. Daken's influencing her on purpose.  _ For both their sakes, mine and Daken’s, his influence had better not break _ , Lester thinks. 

 

“What is your name, darling?” Daken asks, his hand sliding up, fingers brushing against her neck. Skin to skin, just like he'd been specifically told  _ not _ to do, by Lester  _ and _ by Norman. But Daken knew he'd be able to tame her. He could turn damn near anyone into a cuddly kitten at his feet.

 

She hesitates, and grabs his hand and holds it away from her, Daken obviously allowing her do so as he smirks around her, directly at Lester. 

 

“You can call me E, and you don't get to touch me _ever_ again.” She means it to be threatening, but she sounds as though she couldn’t do much of anything to stop him even if she wanted to. She removes her hand from his and shuffles around to the other side of the car, getting into the back seat.

 

Lester approaches Daken. “Don't try that shit again. She needs to trust us. You seducing her like everyone else you meet will not get us there.” He hisses at Daken, slapping the hand that was still extended into the thin air. “What the  _ fuck _ are you thinking?”

 

“Lester, dear, why such venom? Are you jealous that someone else has my attention?” Daken snickers.

 

Before Lester has the chance to tear him an eighth orifice for talking to him like that, Daken pushes the switch and rolls up the window. Lester fights the urge to punch the window when the clawed shithead leans against it, mouthing the words “Get in, loser.”

 

Lester shakes his head and walks around the car, fishing out his pack of Lucky Strikes and withdrawing the lone cigarette and lighting it before doing as he was told and seating himself in the passenger seat next to Daken. 

 

“Where are we going, Dollface?” Lester asks, turning to face E in the back seat. 

 

“Just go down this road ‘til you hit the next shopping center,  then take the next two lefts in a row. I'm in the first house on the right when you hit the big residential area. You'll know it by the gate, and you’ll be able to  see the water on the horizon” she says, gesturing dismissively. She gets out her phone and begins to text someone.

 

Daken rips out of the playground’s parking lot, and they ride in silence, excepting the music coming from E’s headphones. Daken takes her directions verbatim, glancing back at E, who still says nothing, and instead continues to text.  Eventually, she puts a hand up once they hit the residential area. They are now in an expensive and beautifully maintained area out in the more scenic parts of the Hamptons, one filled with impressive mansions owned by the multimillionaires and billionaires of the Manhattan elites as their vacation homes.

 

“Hey, it's over there,” she says, pointing at a sweet little grey and brown stone-fronted mini-mansion. There was a pretty mean looking wrought iron gate, the only apparent access to through the iron fence that rings the property; she had been right about that. 

 

“How'd you afford that?” Lester asks, shocked the slightest bit. Most of the places she'd stayed before were Merc safehouses and drug dens, or her Daddy’s house. “It's not yours, is it?”

 

“Oh, no. It's the Kingpin’s second Hamptons estate. He lets me use it, I help him out with a few things.” She says, waving Lester off. She snaps her fingers at Daken as if he were a dog. “Pull up to the pinpad, will you?”

 

Daken glares at her over his shades in the rearview mirror, doing as he is bid and seeming less than pleased about it. He's more than a little jealous of her house; he's used to being the one to show off his nice things to Lester. Used to being the impressive one.  Maybe he's the one really feeling the jealousy, but he can definitely sense the history between them that Lester conveniently didn't clue him in on.

 

“You work for the Kingpin now? Fuck you, E!” Lester growls, and throws his still lit cigarette out the window at her shining, healthy lawn. He hopes it burns. Just a little. “That pisses me off.  _ You _ ?”

 

“Aww, I know. You wanted to work for him so bad, Les.” She rolls the window down, and leans out the window to punch in an eight digit code. “Sorry; you had your chance, at least as far as he's concerned. I even tried to put a good word in for you, but you shouldn't have made such a big deal about the Daredevil thing. We're not here for supervillain bullshit and archenemies. We're here to take care of the problems the people with the money have, and then we get paid.”

 

“Fuck off! I had a tumor in my brain.” Lester grouses. He gets a rush of rage when he even hears the Devil's name. He fishes the paperclip out of his jeans pocket, and turns it over and over between his fingers. 

 

E stares, a brief moment of pity crossing her features. “Sorry. That was kind of mean; I should know how it feels.” 

 

Daken’s interest is piqued. She doesn't seem the type to apologize for the Mean Girls act. His hunch must be right, he decides. He's even more taken aback when Lester actually acknowledges her apology with a short “S’fine”. It's insufficient to say Daken is curious about what's between them. 

 

The gate makes a faint grinding sound, and rolls open on a shaky track. It's hell on most everyone's ears, and Daken drives through, squirming uncomfortably. There's a long driveway curving around in a loop, with a branch splitting off into an attached four car garage. There is another car or two along the split that leads up to the garage, and a distinct quartet of parking spaces. Daken took the one on the far left, closest to the walkway to the front door. 

 

E steps out of the car, and walks toward the house, gesturing for them to follow. “Now, there could still be someone here. Don’t get in any fuckin’ fights, okay? Mind your own business, and follow my lead. You know, since we’re technically doing illegal shit all over the place here, and you’re fake superheroes.” 

 

“Someone here? Like, Mercs?” Lester pushes, getting out and tagging along.

 

“Someone like-” She hesitates, and looks like she doesn't want to finish the sentence. “Like Caleb.”

 

Daken makes sure the car is locked and secured, not trusting what the word ‘merc’ entails. No one is going to steal his car. 

 

Daken doesn't recognize the name that E drops, but it seems like Lester sure does. He practically does a double-take. 

 

“Caleb? The psycho that almost killed me?” Lester snaps. He grabs the hem of E’s sweater. 

 

She stops. “We will talk about this, Lester. We need to make sure he can't listen in.”, E makes a placating hand gesture. Her voice is soft. “There's a potential this could be dangerous if he's home. I don't see his car, but that's never meant anything before.”

 

“Is there something wrong?” Daken pipes up, placing a hand on Lester’s shoulder when he catches up to the two of them. Lester smacks it away. 

 

“Yeah. We're gonna have to watch our fuckin’ selves.” Lester laughs nervously. 

 

“All I know is, this could be a good opportunity for all of us, if we can come to an agreement,” E says, then gestures for the two men to follow her. 

 

Lester sees a glint as her hand moves, and when he sees what it is, and what finger it's on, there's little for him to do to keep himself from seeing red. He falls in with the other two, silent.

 

As they approach the house, there are sounds. Not sounds germane to a halfway house or a mercenary crash-pad or youth hostel. No glass shattering, no biker music, no fighting. There are sounds like a party. A posh party.

 

E folds her headphones, the music streaming from them cutting off suddenly, and she takes a very deep breath, holding the doorknob. It’s as if she’s preparing herself for something unpleasant or stressful. This little ritual is familiar to Lester; she does this every time she goes somewhere packed with people. She has to; if people in that room are gonna see tomorrow, she absolutely has to. Daken, however, has never seen E work before, he’s only heard stories from Lester. Stories he was sure at the time had to have been embellished, but he is starting to reconsider. He observes her quietly, intent on behaving as much as possible.

 

She opens the door, and it's as if she's hit with a wrecking ball of thought and emotion. She's been in a completely different world for the years that Lester has been gone. People are chatting about their sordid sad little rich people problems. First world one percenter problems.  Boo fucking hoo. Then there’s the hired help: the jazz quartet in the back is exhausted. The caterers can't wait for their shift to be over. One person misses their baby. Another wants to go to bed because they have class in the morning. One of them wants to finish that bowl of sativa she half smoked this morning. E empathizes, whether she wants to or not. She puts on a brave face. A smile like a socialite wife should be wearing. It's torture, but that's why he does it to her. He likes to watch her squirm, to struggle to keep in control of her abilities.

 

She’s had enough of the head games, and these two showed up at the perfect time. She’s been dying to get back to her glory days. It would be like these years of torment were just a very long, very bad dream that she’d finally be permitted to wake up from.

 

“Oh, Lina, dear. We didn’t recognize the car you pulled up in. We thought someone might have ordered takeout. Who are these two?” A woman holding a sloshing wine glass out to E slurs, her head lolling to the side as she smiles affectionately toward the two newcomers. “Did you get a new driver? He’s dressed like crap. The other one looks… Exotic.” The drunken woman’s eyes linger on Daken. He smirks, and she titters bashfully. 

 

E takes the wine glass from the woman. “Old friends of mine, Heather. I need to get by, I’m returning something I borrowed. Thanks for the drink though, sweetheart. I think I actually heard Michael call for you.”

 

“Michael Southridge? Oh, I’m gone, sister.” She turns and begins to stumble away, but looks back toward Daken. “You. You get bored of Lina, I’ll be off by the bar, and. I’m a hell of a lot more fun.” She tugs the strap of her midnight blue cocktail dress before attempting a seductive sashay-away and teetering a bit on her matching stilettos.

 

“Ignore Heather. She’s a narcissist and she likes to collect boy toys.” E grumbles. She fluffs her hair out and finger-styles it a bit so it doesn’t look like she’s been sitting on a park bench instead of running out to Sephora because ‘her foundation ran out’.

 

Lester remains silent, scowling. This is not his type of event. He feels anxious, and frustrated, and hopes that they can move on soon to someplace a bit quieter.

 

“Actually, this is kind of my scene.” Daken says, playfully tapping Lester on the shoulder on his way by, following the invitation extended to him. “You two go ahead. I’ll keep the party going.” He senses that there are a lot of things that need to be said between Lester and little Miss Goldilocks, things that he has no part in and that aren’t meant for his ears. Besides, he already needs a break from babysitting the two of them for Norman.

 

“Suit yourself.” E scoffs, watching him saunter off. She turns to Lester, motioning to him to follow her up the stairs in front of them. “Up here. It'll be empty.”

 

Lester nods, and looks on with an irritated expression, following her lead. 


	3. Chapter 2; Me Voy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get a sense of their history in this one.  
> Also. This is where implied abuse comes from.
> 
> Oop. Just occurred to me that some of yall might like to listen to the chapter title songs, but don't know the artist name or where to look.  
> Prologue is Manic Monday by The Bangles. First chapter is Daddy's Girl by Natalia Kills. Chapter 2 is Me Voy (I'm leaving) by Julieta Venegas.

As they ascend, no one notices their departure. It's as if she wasn't there, and by proximity, neither was Lester. He lets out the breath he'd been holding for what seemed like hours, and absently worries about the cigarette still out there in front of the house. Caleb knows that he smokes Lucky Strikes, and the unfiltered cigarettes were a fairly rare brand, reserved for edgy or dedicated smokers rabid for the harshness of undiluted tobacco smoke. Caleb would see it, and then he would know Lester had been here. He had to remember to pick that shit up before he and Daken left. 

 

They walk up one of a pair of matching, curved flights of hardwood stairs, carpeted only in a strip down the middle, which only could have been installed by a particularly skilled craftsman, and at no small expense; as he ascends, Lester’s eyes are glued to his feet. He looks up at the back of E’s head every so often. 

 

She is silent. Lester feels worried, and decides to spill what’s on his mind.

 

“What are you  _ really  _ doing in New York?” Lester asks sullenly, eyes continuing to catch on the big diamond on her left ring finger. He looks up when she grabs ahold of his jacket as he reaches the top of the stairs, and immediately feels like he can't breathe; his feeling of suffocation is strictly due to the look on E’s face.

 

She looks at him, her face coloring with so many emotions at once. She's trembling with wide eyes, and so pale as she clutches his denim jacket. It hits him, finally. “Lester, I'm a fucking  _ prisoner _ here,” she whispers. He's never seen her look more terrified. “I need you to help me.”

 

If he could touch her hand now- 

 

He feels concerned about what others could do to her in this state. Something inside of her breaks, and he sees it in her eyes. The deadened layers crumble away as her facade slips, and she starts to sniffle. He pushes through what feels like walls of psychic gelatin that stands between them, and steps forward. He puts an arm around her and guides her into the next room before she curls into herself, and starts to hyperventilate, tears streaming down her face. 

 

The room that he has picked is a cozy little home office, with a desk and several chairs. Some potted plants in the window. There are pictures of E and Caleb everywhere, with other couples, or ‘friends’ Lester recognizes among the posh partygoers downstairs. Even a joyless wedding photo, with neither of their parents or even friends in sight. Not a shred of anything that looks older than a year or two. There seems like there are too many pictures for it to look organic, and she doesn't look happy in any of them, plastered with makeup and stiff in posture like a sculpture, or worse, a marionette. He still looks like the same uppity Clark-Kent-looking motherfucker, taunting him. Neat black hair, blue eyes, angel-face.  _ This is all fake,  _ Lester thinks,  _ What a fucking joke. _

 

Once they are in and the door is shut behind Lester with a soft click, E detaches from him, standing a few feet back. He does not pursue her, and lets her go. When she was feeling emotional before, she would always stay at least that far away, and she would tell him to stay back; it was always for his safety, she often had said. 

 

“Lester, I don't remember anything, but I know so many bad things have happened,” she blurts out in between gasps and sobs, “I don't remember! I don’t remember anything!” Her head is in her hands, and he can tell she is barely containing how much she wants to have a meltdown, that this unusual display of vulnerability and emotion is just the tip of a very big, very loud iceberg.

 

“What are you talking about?” Lester questions her, gesturing at the air in frustration. To his surprise, his tone is a little more angry and a little less sympathetic.

 

“I'm saying that Caleb has been fucking with my head. He's got-” she pauses, trying to catch her breath. “I don't know, like, crazy strong hypnotism or some bullshit. He has a way of making me forget things, and cutting off my abilities. He makes me do things.” She murmurs, holding her head. She's still crying and gasping for breath. “Please. He's been leading me in circles for months and telling me I'm crazy when I see something’s wrong. I've never been able to tell anyone. I always forget. I think his hold on my head was disrupted when th-the pheromones from Fuck Boy got to me. I started- I started seeing things. That's why I went quiet.”

 

Lester is dumbstruck. He has never, ever seen E so vulnerable or so scared. She was fearless before, utterly implacable and relentlessly unflappable, no matter how dangerous or stressful the situation. He doesn't know what to do here. The only thing to come to mind is the first thing that rolls out of his mouth: “Do you want me to kill him for you?”

 

She looks up at him with big, shiny eyes, like she wants to touch him.  She's never looked at him that way. Even more so, she looks like she's aching for him to touch her, but she's not safe to be near when she's like this. She could give him a grand mal seizure, an aneurysm, or worse; especially with the fragility of his brain after what he's been through lately. Being on constant watch and the threat of an electric shock whenever he did something his handlers thought of as unseemly when he was under the thumb of the Thunderbolts, and then again with the ‘Avengers’ did no favors for his stability.

 

Lester puts his own head in his hands, partly because it's killing him to see her like this and he knows there's nothing he can do about it. “I told you he was a problem. He's batshit crazy. I said he tried to kill me. It was more than a little friendly competition between hit men.” 

 

His hands fall away from his face, and he looks back up at her. She appears bewildered, like he's come to her with something new. Not something they'd argued about years before, back when they were partners. Maybe she  _ didn't _ remember. “I had to leave. You didn't listen to me when I tried to tell you about it, E. It didn't start out that way, but it was really awful how fast things went downhill. Life was good before that- Hell, they were better than good; they were fucking great, E. I had never got along so well working with anyone before.”

 

And he never had after, either. It was true; Lester had always thought that a good thing never came his way unless it was meant to be taken away from him later, just when he was beginning to feel happy. In this case, sometimes he just has to laugh at the irony of it. Serves him right.

 

“At the end, he had you so wrapped around his finger.  _ You _ . You thought nothing was wrong and I couldn't convince you, no matter what. He heard me talking shit somehow while you and I were on a job, so what did he do? Did he tell you how he got rid of me, E?”

 

E is quivering. Lester doesn't realize he's yelling at her by this time. “I don’t remember, Les. I don’t fucking remember,” she whispers, gritting her teeth between words.

 

“I'll tell you.  After the job was over, I stopped by the house. I was gonna grab my shit and stay at a hotel or something. I was an idiot and had a drink with you first.”

 

Lester had never told anyone about this. Not even Daken. He was too scared to relive what happened, and every time he began to remember, he used what he would later learn was a cult mind control technique, that the abused or traumatized often picked up called cognitive derailment, in which he would, in a panic, force himself to think about something, anything, else. It's all a little hazy in his mind right now as he struggles to put his disjointed, nightmarish memories into coherent thoughts and then, from that jumbled mess, into words, all the while avoiding the near-involuntary impulse to force himself to think of other things. In his pockets, his hands ball themselves into fists as a war rages in his mind. 

 

“He had gotten ahold of my drink, fucking date-rape drugged me and _waterboarded_ me in the garage while I was tripping balls on Ketamine, E.” It was his turn to try to catch his breath. He fidgets with the items in his pocket, running his fingers along the back of the card and feeling the texture of the raised ink. The thought of that little playing card finding itself in Caleb’s neck was the only thing keeping him down to earth. “I was drowning but I was so fucked up on whatever he put in me that it felt like it lasted for _a million years._ I fainted like a little girl, and he did God knows what to me while I was out. I woke up wrapped in garbage bags, naked, in a filthy gas station dumpster in Olympia. He had poked holes in the bags, thankfully, but he wanted me to be _scared._ He left me a sweet little fucking note saying that he'd do it again, a hundred times in a row, as many times in a row as he had to until I left, and went back to New York. What does he fucking do a year later? Move you two into a little love nest in the Hamptons? Come on-”

 

 _Stop!_ Lester hears in his mind, though not in a voice so much as a _force_ , as if the sentiment had reached out from E’s mind and slapped him hard across the face. He stops, mid-sentence, mid-thought. He can’t speak. His body stiffens. He can’t even breathe.

 

E is holding her head, trembling. Her voice is shaky, unsure, as she begins again without Lester talking over her. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember. There’s  _ HOLES  _ in my mind that I don’t even notice until I trip over one. And the most fucked up thing of all is that I am certain he could program me not to notice them at all, but he allows it, because he’s so sadistic that he  _ wants _ me to know what he's done, what he could do but doesn’t.  He wants me to live in terror and to feel the violation- and there's so much that I don’t know, that I still don’t remember.  I couldn’t even remember your goddamned  _ face  _ until I saw you walking toward me and I  _ knew _ it was you and that I hadn’t made you up. That's why I looked so surprised.”

 

She uncurls, slowly; she looks right at Lester. He isn’t telepathically released from her grip on him yet, so he’s still paralyzed, frozen in place. She knows he hates being trapped in his own mind, even for a second, but he has to hear her out.

 

“Les, I trusted you with my life before he got to me. Once, you trusted me with yours too.” E says, still sniffling, her face wet and her words bursting out of her between sobs. “I know that much. I don't know anything about what happened to you. You don't know what I've been through, So let's start from square one. W-we are  _ not  _ gonna have a screaming match up here when there's a bunch of stupid little bystanders downstairs that could get caught up if I exploded. That's not to mention, they would tell Caleb  _ everything _ they heard if he asked.”

 

Lester feels the iron grip on him release, and he lets himself sink to the floor. He feels like all of the joints in his body are made of half melted gummy candy. “Doll, what have you gotten us into?” he asks, feeling like his speech is slowed somehow, slurred. The anger is gone from him, all the hurt and shame, along with all the tension in his body. 

 

“We're going to get ourselves out of it,” she murmurs, sitting down on the floor with him. Her hands, hesitant at first, cup his face gently and wipe away tears he wasn't aware he'd shed. 

 

This time, he does feel her searching in his mind. He feels strangely calm as she does this. She’s confirming what he told her, doing some miscellaneous fact checking and digging around a little bit for good measure. Normally, Lester would be furious about the violation of her playing around in his head, but he’s so docile. The carpeted floor of the office is comfortable, and her hands on his face are so soft. She smells nice, like- 

 

Like rosewater.

 

Lester feels an outrageous rush of panic rising in him. Caleb must have known that he would be coming. E always smelled like peaches and cream before. The only person that Lester  _ or Bullseye  _ knew _ ,  _ who ever wore rose- _ anything _ was Elektra Natchios. Caleb did this specifically to fuck with him. 

 

E must have detected the violent downswing of Lester’s thoughts and emotions because she gasps, jerking her hands back. She feels his fear intensely, but her sympathy is also there. She moves to place her hands on his shoulders, but they're slapped away quickly. 

 

“F-find a way to convince me he doesn’t already know I’m here.  That you're not under his control right now. Otherwise, I’m  _ gone, _ ” he says, and he stands with wobbly legs. His brain is still fuzzy, and his skin feels like it's crawling. 

 

She stays there on the floor, but looks up at him, confusion and hurt coloring her face. Her mascara is running a little. He offhandedly thinks that that is not the way he wanted to make her mascara run.

 

Lester takes her silence as a no to his question, and before she can stop him with her damn mind tricks or her influence, he moves. As fast as he can with his body still feeling like a melted Sour Patch Kid. He opens the door and walks out of the office, leaving the door open, and staggers down the stairs and out of the house, bumping into people as he goes. He doesn't look for Daken, he just goes out front to pick up the cigarette butt.  _ Screw Daken _ , Lester thinks,  _ he's probably fucking Stacey or Bridgette or whoever the fuck he left with up against the wall of a bathroom right now anyway _ . 

 

When Lester finds the cigarette, he stuffs it in his pocket, not even worrying about the loose tobacco that'll doubtlessly be all over in his pockets. He's going to burn these clothes anyway. He has to get away and go ghost  _ yesterday,  _ no matter how good the payment on this job was supposed to be.

 

He goes to Daken’s car. It's a sweet ass vintage car, so luckily for Lester there's no alarm, and the locks pull up inside to disengage. He pulls the shoelace out of his sneaker, and makes a slipknot in the middle. He shimmies it in between the space of the door and the frame, and catches the loop of the slipknot around the lock, tightening it and pulling up. The door unlocks, he gets in, and sets to hotwiring the car. When it starts with a rumble, he tears out of the little neighborhood as fast as he can without getting pulled over, and heads back towards Manhattan. 


	4. Glory Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is where you get to know a very bad boy. You also get a little glimpse into how this all started. Also, this is where you actually see some abuse, so CAREFUL.  
> See also; Intro to a little bit of the gay™  
> Title is Glory Days by Bruce Springsteen.

****

_ A cozy looking little townhouse on the edge of the bay area of Seattle. That's where it really started. For him, anyway. _

  


_ Bullseye needed a little break from his usual hunting ground in New York, not to mention some space after he'd received a defeat from a certain red-suited asshole. He had plenty of assets set aside, and decided to take a vacation. It was a very quiet place, but there was all manner of crazy shit going on under the floorboards of this town, and he could smell it, as if he had stepped in it and needed to scrape it from the bottom of his shoe. _

  


_ His putz of a fixer, who called himself his agent, had sent him there with a job. He was supposed to clear out a little gang of kids taking hit jobs for the local mob. College age and younger. No one wanted this job because no one wanted to kill a minor on accident and get caught; the courts, and juries in particular, were especially harsh when it came to killing children and teenagers, even if it was an accident, and the police were always highly motivated to make an arrest in such cases. Even worse, with something like that on their record, it would be especially nasty if they ended up in prison and people found out, and the COs would almost certainly see to it that they did. The other reason that even experienced assassins were refusing was because one of the kids was reputed to be a mutant. _

  


_ However, Bullseye didn't plan on taking the job so he could carry it out. He wasn't bored enough to start slaughtering college brats for the peanuts this rival gang was offering. The problem was that these kids were sloppy and inexperienced, getting noticed by the press and law enforcement like they had been in recent months. Seemed like they needed a shove in the right direction from a pro. A scare. A few pointers. _

  


_ So what does he do? Come to the door in costume, and ring the goddamn doorbell like a fucking Jehovah’s Witness. _

  


_ He startled the little Asian dyke that answered the door half to death. She pulled a handgun on him, and he snatched it right out of her hands, turning up the supervillain chuckle hard. She froze immediately. _

  


_ From the front door he could see two others. A androgynous, bony blonde skeleton of a kid wearing bulky headphones, holding a stuffed grey cat; the other was a black-haired boy about six feet tall, cooking something in the kitchen that smelled like breakfast, even though it was 5PM. Neither of them could have been more than 18 or 19. The other girl could have been maybe 21 at the oldest. They really were just kids. _

  


_ The boy in the kitchen was cool as a cucumber, his face devoid of the healthy amount of shock the situation should have garnered from any sane individual his age. His posture seemed ready for a fight before Bullseye even got in the door. Maybe he was the sloppy freak.  _

  


_ The blonde recognized him, he could see it on (his? her?) face. It was some semblance of excitement. “Oh boy,” they said. “Jax, holy shit.” Seemed like a girl, from the sound of their voice, but he wasn't trying to assume. A giggle tumbled from their lips. _

  


_ “What the fuck you laughing for, E?” the Asian girl in front of him snapped. “He took my gun!” _

  


_ “Now, children,” Bullseye dropped the gun, and kicked it across the floor, watching the Asian girl the blonde had called Jax as she scrambled after it. The black-haired boy was smirking, amused. The blonde’s eyes hadn’t left him for a second. “This is a learning experience. I'm gonna walk back out, and when I come back, you’d better be ready.” _

  


_ Bullseye heard a “Ready for what? What the fuck!” as he walked back out and shut the door behind him. There were some shuffling sounds immediately and a few more cries of “What the fuck", and “Holy shit! Did you see that?" from the mouthy one, and he smirked. They were rookies. Maybe he'd teach them a little if they surprised him the second time around. Maybe killing them anyway would give him something fun to do. He’d decide later, when the moment arrived. _

  


_ When he went to knock on the door again, he found that once he so much as saw the knob turn, the air felt completely different. This time, the other two had fucked off. The only one visible was the blonde, the one who opened the door. She'd put down the stuffed cat, and it stared in his direction from the couch with its dull, plastic eyes. _

  


_ “Boy, oh boy. I didn't realize the price on us was that high,” the blonde, E, said, laughing. She laid a hand on his arm. Seemed like an innocent gesture from a fan. “Or maybe you got a demotion. You're the poor sack of dicks that got your ass kicked by Daredevil on live TV, right?” _

  


_ Bullseye immediately felt anger boiling up inside of him, but instead of slugging her off her feet for her taunting, he felt a shift. First, his body wouldn't obey him. Then, he felt calm and went slack. He almost lost his balance. _

  


_ She laughed at him. She was  _ laughing _ at him, and she pulled him inside by his arm. She touched the bare skin on his stubbly face left exposed by his mask, and hooked a finger into it, pulling it over his head and unmasking him. _

  


Holy shit, _ he thought.  _ What is wrong here?

  


_ She gasped when she saw the target imprinted into his forehead, her hand frozen in midair as if she were about to touch it. “You're the real Bullseye.” She said, pulling back completely. Her wide grey eyes held the panic of a startled fawn, like she was expecting something else. “There is no fucking way he'd send one of the big guys like you after us.” _

  


_ When she took her hand from his arm, he felt like he had agency over his own body once more. “It's not nice to play with people's heads,” he growled, and made another mistake very quickly when he made a move to grab her wrist. The second  _ he _ touched  _ her _ skin, instead of the other way around, he felt like every muscle in his body contracted violently, and he couldn't breathe. Every inch of him stiffened; it felt like his brain was on fire, and his lungs were exploding.  _

  


_ She flinched, and jerked her arm away.  As soon as he let go, the pain stopped, but he actually felt so winded that he doubled over for a second, gasping for breath. When he felt ready to come back up, he felt cold metal pressed to the back of his head.  _

  


_ “I'm just gonna have you stop right there,” the only voice he hadn't heard yet, the boy's, whispered right in his fucking ear. _

  


Oh yeah. Took another pass, but these kids definitely knew what they were doing.

  


**_~~~ * * * ~~~_ **

  


He sees him. Caleb sees Lester speeding on the access road out of the neighborhood like a bat out of hell. Lester’s eyes connect with Caleb’s for maybe a second, before the light changes and he guns it, the tires suffering audibly and leaving twin trails of black rubber on the pavement. 

  


Caleb smiles, continuing to sing along to Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days” and slapping the steering wheel as he drives home. 

  


He was right. Today was the day.  He turns the car down a side street, deciding to make a quick stop at a flower shop. 

  


I had a friend was a big baseball player

Back in high school

He could throw that speedball by you

Make you look like a fool, boy

Saw him the other night at this roadside bar

I was walking in, he was walking out

We went back inside, sat down, had a few drinks

But all he kept talking about was   
Glory days, well, they'll pass you by

Glory days, in the wink of a young girl's eye

Glory days, glory days

  


He has to laugh at how perfectly this is all going. He's delighted.

  


Once his errand is done, he parks in the space on the far left, and shuts off his music. He gets out of his car, the same blue Acura TL he's had for years, and locks it, cradling the items he went out to grab in one arm. A very nice bouquet of peach, white, and cream-colored roses and orange lilies for the foyer, and a new belt. E would certainly be in the house somewhere, still. She wasn’t in the car with Lester, so fortunately for her, he wouldn’t have to hunt her down again.

  


He sends her a text message. 

  


\-  I'm home, sweetheart.

  


He receives one back before he even reaches the front step.

  


-In the shower, be down soon. Party is going lovely.

  


Caleb feels panic and suspicion rush him, and his hands quiver. The shower? Did something happen between them? Something that was unplanned? He'll have to have a little session with her when he heads upstairs, have her give him a little reassurance. 

  


Caleb puts on a brave face and opens the door. As he enters the house, the sea of familiar faces is broken by an unfamiliar one walking in from the garden, parting ways with that slut, Heather. A tall, muscular man, with an intricate tattoo trailing down his left arm. He is a stark contrast to everyone there, with his eastern features, a long black mohawk, and a very obvious hickey on his neck. 

  


Though he is very much fitting in, with his Versace and his upper-crust pleasantries as he interacts with the other partygoers, he is still very much  _ standing out _ to Caleb. Caleb has never met or seen this man before. Someone must have brought him. 

  


_ Maybe time for an introduction _ , Caleb thinks, and strides to the vicinity of the man to observe. On his way by, he discards the flowers on a table. Someone will pick them up, and they will be put in a vase of water, and then put that in its proper place. He doesn’t have to see it to know it will be so.

  


Once Caleb gets within about five feet of this man, he feels something. He feels  _ good _ just being near him. An embarrassing kind of good, one that would make even someone like his lumberjack father blush. This particular change wouldn’t stand out, except to someone who was constantly alert about their own feelings and how they might affect someone else. They were mostly projected, anyway, but they still had causes and effects. He would never have gotten this stirred up about a  _ man _ , though. It felt like E’s influence, almost, but- something else. Something much more primal.

  


Caleb decides that at some point if the man is still here when he comes back downstairs, he has to shut that down, if he can. It is definitely not welcome here, as far as he is concerned. For now, he wants to head upstairs. He’d figure out what to do later, if it even became relevant. Perhaps he was just another freak passing through, looking for attention.

  


He can almost swear he feels eyes on him as he ascends the stairs, the new belt still in his hands. 

  


When he enters their room, at the end of the hall, he can hear the shower running still. The bathroom door is open, and there is steam coming through. She must be scalding herself a little. Just as well, he won’t allow her to hurt herself anymore, so she has to find little ways to clear her head. Bet she has a lot to let out. He sits, and he waits about 5 or 6 more minutes. 

  


When she finally comes out, drying her hair with the fluffy blue towel she’d probably have wrapped around her if she had detected him, he speaks. “You’ve been very, very bad.”

  


She startles, dropping the towel, and covers herself as she scrambles to pick it up. “Please, not right now. We have to get back downstairs, don’t we? Everyone is waiting for their hosts, right?” she pleads. Rather, that’s what pleading sounds like from her. 

  


_ Kissing ass doesn’t always get you what you want, though. Especially when you’ve been telling lies _ , he thinks. “Now, now. You know what’s coming. You can be good and tell me everything. It won’t save you, but you’ll get it easier later,” he says, standing. He laughs as she backs away, legs shaking.

  


Her body is so scarred. Scars old and fresh peek out from under the towel. Some she’d put on herself, some he’d put there. Some, doctors had left. He smiles fondly, thinking of everything they had been through together.

  


“I don’t know what you are  _ talking about _ . Please, can we just-”, she begins again, but he stops her promptly with a raised hand and an interruption. Her two least favorite words to hear out of him, but she’d never know them as anything out of the ordinary.

  


“Echo buzz,” he says, clear but just above a whisper. Once he sees her eyelids droop and her body go slack there on the floor, and pats his leg like you would to call a pet. “Come here.”

  


She crawls on her hands and knees to him, discarding the towel and sits in front of him, knees tucked underneath her and hands resting on her thighs. Her face is empty, her eyes on his face but not quite meeting his gaze. In this state, she is hypnotized and completely at his command. He can ask her questions and have her tell him exactly what he wants to know, even things that she shouldn’t know but does due to her telepathy. He can give her instructions that she will follow, unconditionally. Most of all, though, he can touch her. Her defenses are retracted, and she is at his mercy. He reaches down and strokes her wet hair. She smells lovely, like fresh roses and hints of vanilla.

  


“Now, E. Was Bullseye here?” he asks.

  


“Yes,” she answers back, sounding reserved. She sounds like this when there is information she would prefer to hold back, but can’t.  _ It’s sweet that she can still sound defiant, even now, _ he thinks. 

  


“What was he doing here? Give me a detailed answer, sweetheart,” he says, his long caramel fingers tangling into her hair. He is gentle, for now.

  


“I don’t know why he showed up. He said he was here for me.”

  


“You don’t know?” he scoffs, face in his free hand. “Why would he come here for you, sweetheart?” 

  


“Because he loves me.” 

  


A growl escapes Caleb and he wrenches her up by the hair. She does not respond to this with any outwardly displayed pain signals. “What was that?” he hisses. When she says nothing, he pulls her hair harder, and he speaks in her face. “Answer me. Repeat what you said.”

  


“He loves me.”

  


“How do you know? Did he tell you? Are you two doing shit behind my back?” 

  


She slowly closes her eyes, almost as if she were flinching away from him in slow motion. “I don’t know. He thinks good things about me. He touched my hand. We haven’t seen each other in a year,” she answers the string of questions softly.

  


“Well, that’s all fine, then. Was your hand the only thing he touched?”

  


“I touched his face. I dug around his mind.” 

  


Caleb sneers. “His face? Why would you touch his face?”

  


She stills for a moment, and then she grabs his wrist, his hand still in her hair. “I was wiping tears off of his face. He told me what you did.”

  


He pulls his hand back, letting her go. She tumbles backward. That was very, very odd. She’s never been able to push her way through. Was there something interfering? Was it because he was too rough? He puts a hand up to her, but she keeps going.

  


“He told me that you got jealous because he and I were friends, and you tried to  _ murder _ him.” She stands up now, still only about five feet tall to his six, but still terrifying all the same. “Now, is this a bad time to mention he brought some other jackass assassin?”

  


“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Caleb says, stepping away from her. The back of his calf hits the edge of the bed.

  


“Just ‘some other jackass assassin’?” says a voice Caleb has never heard before, and before he can respond, he feels a strong hand on his shoulder, and something sharp poking into his back. A knife? Was it the man that he saw before? How was he so quiet to have crept across the bed, not making a sound?

  


“I don't fucking know who you are or why Lester brought you. I wasn't even sure you were on my side. You just seemed like a merc buddy of his.” E spits, putting her hands on her hips. 

  


_She didn't even try to cover herself up. Does she know him more than she was letting on?_ Caleb wonders, trying to get a glance of his attacker. He feels the first hole in his skin through his dress shirt when he tries to look over his shoulder. He ceases after he feels the second and third hole are poked. _It's sharp, whatever it is._ _What does this guy have, Wolverine claws?_

  


Then all of a sudden, he felt  _ good _ again. The man's hand being on his shoulder made him feel  _ very good.  _ He felt the sharp things come out of his back almost immediately, and slumped against the man behind him. He felt the man’s grip release from his shoulder and he brought his hand to his neck, touching and caressing it. It felt so so  _ nice _ . He relaxes, and melts into his touch. He usually can't stand the touch of anyone. After a moment, he feels like he's dozing off in his warm, strong arms.

  


“That was pretty fucking cool,” E says.


	5. Chapter 4; Run-around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mostly has to do with Lester. More memories.  
> Chapter title is Run-around by Blues Traveler

_ “We know who you are, and I can disable you again like that any time I want. Why are you here?” the blonde girl asked. She glanced at the black haired boy who was behind him. The Asian girl peeked out from behind the door as well, her gun raised. _

 

_ The gun in the black haired boy’s hands came down from the back of Bullseye’s head. He put his hands down, having raised them up initially in a show of surrender. “Well, kiddos. You’ve been attracting a lot of fucking attention around here. You’re annoying enough that I’d get a paid vacation on the west coast from the bosses that want you out of the way. They offered to send me to a pretty swanky L.A. resort  _ on top _ of the money they’re shaking at me.” _

 

_ “Did you come here to ice us?” Jax asked, bumping E aside and standing in front of her protectively. “Yes, or no?” _

 

_ E shot a glare at the back of her head, and backed up another foot or so. She really didn’t like to be touched. E turned her attention back to Bullseye immediately. “Pretty sure he would have done it without even coming through the door if he was going to.” _

 

_ “This man is a sadist. He probably wants to play with his prey first,” the boy hissed in his ear. “He could have killed us three-hundred-sixty-five ways to Sunday.” _

 

_ “Caleb, don’t be creepy,” Jax says, laughing at him and gesturing with the gun. _

 

_ I was probably meant to unsettle Bullseye. It did, just a little, but it was more the way ‘Caleb’ was invading his personal space than anything. Made him think of Wade getting up in his face at every opportunity, “Lucky for you, I’m not that bored yet,” he paused, snickering. Had to keep a brave face.  _ You’ve got to establish dominance with the young ones early on _ , he thinks. Been a long time since he worked with anyone new to the killing industry. “No one here has had a speck of formal training, have they? Glad I gave you that second chance now, huh?” _

 

_ “No, we haven't,” E says, and she relaxes. It’s as though she can sense his intentions much better than the other two, who still look a little tense. She puts a hand on Jax’s back. “I’m asking the questions now, okay? What are you doing here?” _

 

_ “You need help getting this boss off your asses, I need a cure for boredom. I’m feeling a little more bloodthirsty than you three could fix. I’ll show you how to be capable hitmen, and we'll take these guys out at the source. We all get paid.” _

 

_ “What makes you think we need your help, old man?” Jax growled, turning the baby gangsta vibe up, turning her gun sideways, gesturing with her free hand expressively. “You said yourself, we showed you up once you gave us the chance.” _

 

_ “Once he gave us the chance. Jax, people don't just let you have another try in the real world,” Caleb snapped, stepping around Lester. He stood on the other side of her, regarding her with faint annoyance. “We should see what he has to say first.” _

 

_ “For now, that sounds okay, but- your bacon is burning,” E said, wrinkling her nose. “Sucks. I would have ate some.” _

 

_ Caleb scrambled away as the smoke detector started to go off. The girls snickered, and so did Lester. _

 

**~~~ * * * ~~~**

 

Lester heads to one of the cheapest and probably dirtiest motels in the area, one where he knows there is a small stash of cash and a few little miscellaneous items. A burner phone. Rope. Some knives. One gun. Forged documents and IDs. One or two mementos he had held onto from his life before.

 

He parks in front of the office, and has them clear out room 108 for him. The man at the desk recognizes him, and he becomes rather compliant almost instantly. He's not sure whether it's out of respect for his reputation, fear, or because the sooner he’s out of their hair, the sooner they can call the cops, but he seems very cooperative. He makes it clear he is in a rush; they throw out whatever hooker and john are past their check-out time and fooling around in there. It only takes a few minutes, the two of them rushing to throw their clothes on, spitting and swearing the whole way out. Lester offers a mocking wave, ducking in and locking the door behind him.

 

Immediately, Lester sets to prying the headboard off of the weak and loosely threaded screws that held it to the tacky green wallpaper and the drywall underneath. When he finally jimmies it loose, he takes his lighter out of his pocket, using the butt of it to collapse the flimsy backing of the headboard and release his goodies. Thankfully, it's still there, all neatly packed away in a small blue duffle bag.

 

He groans with annoyance when he discovers the burner is ringing nearly as soon as he unzips the bag. He flips it open, seeing four or five missed calls, trying to match the number in his head to a known individual before he answers it. Not a number he recognizes. Fingers crossed it isn't  _ him _ , he answers it. “Yes?”

 

“Where  _ are _ you, Bullseye, and where is my goddamned car?” 

 

_ Shit,  _ Lester thinks,  _ It's Daken.  _ “How did you get this number?” he snaps.

 

“Your little Lamb here has been very forthcoming with anything I ask about you, since I'm helping her get rid of her bad husband. She thinks that we're partners. Mercenary buddies. I suppose that means you didn't tell her about why we came, then.” 

 

“I know why I came here; I wanted to see her,” Lester says, cracking up a little. “That's all she read off me. I'm gone now, though.”

 

“You'd really spite all that Norman has done for you; you’d spite me after everything we’ve been through like this -”

 

“Daken, don’t call me again, not unless that son of a bitch is dead. I can’t trust anything you say.”

 

“Which son of a bitch? Her husband?”

 

“Quit  _ saying that,”  _ Lester growls, “He's not really her husband.”

 

Lester hears something else over the line, something in the background. Someone asking who he was talking to. 

 

Daken laughs, and it’s a dark sound that unsettles Lester in ways he doesn’t want to think about. He’s catching on, and that could be bad. “Are you going to leave her behind too? Sorry to appeal to your humanity here, but if you came here for her, you’re doing an awful job of showing it, dear.”

 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking sweet talk me now. There’s more going on here than you realize,” Lester hisses. His brain stops for a moment, and his thoughts try to derail. He fights it again, “That man is dangerous in ways that even I can’t begin to match, and I'm pretty badass, in case you hadn't noticed.” 

 

“So, you want me to protect her while you run away and ghost us both? You know what I could do, after I work this little situation out?” Daken pauses, and Lester grits his teeth.

 

“You would  _ not-” _

 

Daken cuts him off, “I could just incapacitate her, _ nicely, because  _ I’m _ not  _ a  _ monster, _ and bring her straight back to Norman, like we were supposed to. I know that’s not what  _ you _ were planning. Please  _ reassure _ me, sweetness, that I don’t have to take such drastic measures.” 

 

“You always know exactly how to put my fucking balls in a vice, don’t you?” Lester snarls. He briefly considers letting him carry this threat out and continuing to run after he destroys the burner cell. He knows that if he doesn't agree, the next step would be real drastic measures, and not just teasing. 

 

“You make it my job. Who else is going to keep you on the straight and narrow? Now, you better be back here before it gets late. I can’t keep him out forever. You know the situation better than I, so I’m going to need your help on how I should handle this ‘dangerous’ man, asleep in my lap like a kitten.”

 

“I- What?”

 

“Come back to the house. See for yourself. Don't keep me waiting, Lester, dear.”

 

The line goes dead, and Lester is left to wonder what the fuck is actually happening. Regardless, he grabs the duffle bag, stuffing the phone in his jacket pocket, and heads back out to the car. He leaves the keys in the door, and offers a wave to the man in the office, jumping into the vehicle. He gets it started, and rips out of the lot.

 

He’s still thinking about what Daken had said. “Motherfucker,” he spits, white-knuckling the steering wheel. He tries fiddling with the radio to calm himself down while he’s stuck at a stoplight, and it only spits out Daken’s stupid Italian opera music no matter how many times he hits the ‘next’ button. He cringes and shuts it off with a groan. This will be a very long car ride with nothing but his thoughts, his doubts, to keep him company.

 

_ Was I really going to just leave her there? _ he thinks, fidgeting a little.  _ She would have been alright. Yeah. She would have been fine. She’s been getting by well enough without me. Skinny little shit’s still alive, isn’t she?  _ He finds his mind wandering off of the road, and eventually he has to stop the car from wandering off the road as well. He hadn’t even noticed he was drifting. He feels tired where he would normally be feeling very manic.

 

He’s been given this one chance to get the motherfucker back. For taking a good thing away from him, for loss of his time, for violation of his mind, for making him feel  _ scared for his life _ .  _ No one _ makes Bullseye feel scared like that. Not anymore. 

 

This year, thanks to a very fortunate tip-off, he killed the only other man that ever made him fearful. He stayed for hours to watch, to make sure he burned. Waited until the wrecked plane trapping him him was nothing but ashes, steel and melted rubber. He stomped his skull in. He literally shattered it into pieces, but he wanted to keep going until it was dust.

 

No one would make him feel like a scared little kid  _ ever _ again.

 

That night, after he got the hell out of dodge, the smell of smoke still on his clothes, soaked into his pores, and back into the loving arms of his keepers back at Avengers Tower- he really missed E. For the first time since he left Seattle, he missed the hell out of her and the way she could always pick apart what he was feeling to help him grasp it better. Not let it control him. She really, really understood how he felt when he lost control, even if it was just because she could feel it herself. 

 

Daken helped in his own way, but Lester wasn’t ready to admit to himself just how much. Especially not now, when things were turning upside-down in ways he really hadn’t anticipated.

 

_ These are things I would have an easier time sorting out later _ , he thinks. He shifts uncomfortably and struggles to put both of them out of his mind. Realistically, there probably wasn’t much sorting out that he could do at any time, though, until he unraveled the tangled ball of yarn of the feelings in his head. There was either a long talk in his future when he got there, or no talk at all.

 

He was better off just thinking about all the ways he wanted to carve Caleb up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Use him as a dart board. Put cigarettes out on his skin. Break his kneecaps. How would he like a little waterboarding, huh? A big grin spreads across his face.

 

Eventually, entertaining himself with all the ways he’d love to make that man scream like a little girl, he distracts himself just long enough to miss the turnoff into the neighborhood that E’s house is in. He keeps going just long enough to find a driveway to turn around in, and saw a few cars heading out, and a car or two heading in. He decides to pull off to the shoulder and watch.

 

The cars going out are fancy shit, Lincolns and Benzes, a couple of Bentleys and even a Lamborghini. Appears to be mostly drunken party-goers, and their drivers. The catering van comes next, a cargo van trails behind. Probably the band. 

 

The cars heading in are black, unmarked, with tinted windows. 

 

He rummages in the duffle bag and sees another missed call. A number that he recognizes immediately. The phone starts to vibrate in his hands again and he startles, answering it. “Yes?”

 

“So you’re not going to like this, but you’re going to have to sneak in around one, two, three, four, five,  _ six _ armored guards.” E sounds amused, and less than sorry. “Apparently  _ someone  _ tipped off my Boss-man that you were in the area. There are armed guards on my property unloading their shit right now to stake out and wait for you.”

 

“Your Bo- Someone told the Kingpin I’m here?”

 

“Yeah, I forgot to mention I wasn’t just in the park for some peace and quiet. I went there to meet my weed dealer. He probably saw you and ran screaming the other direction,” she laughs, sounding anxious, “You, or your buddy with the claws here. Anyhow, a few minutes ago I got a nice little phone call from my go-between, saying that there were going to be some guards coming by to inspect the property and make sure that I was safe. I’m on hold, I asked to speak with someone else. I’ll try to explain, but in the meantime, you better be careful. Do  _ not _ kill anybody.”

 

That would be  _ hard _ for him, especially under the circumstances.

 

“I’ll try.”


	6. Chapter 5; Hypnotize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOO HOO  
> Chapter 5 is gonna be fun for you guys.  
> All I can say for now is.. Poor Lester.  
> Title song is, of course, Hypnotize by Audioslave.

Caleb starts to come around. His eyelids feel heavy, but he quickly remembers he was on the verge of- some sort of conflict. He can’t remember who or why, just glaringly what.

There are voices. Three, to be exact. He keeps his eyes shut and listens, taking into account his being discovered might result in more than just a little bodily harm. 

The first one was definitely Lester’s. It’s gritty from years of smoking those damned unfiltered cigarettes of his, and Caleb tenses in hatred at the sound of it. At the very thought of the sound of it. He sounds amused right now. “-n’t kill anybody. Honestly,” Caleb wants to scream, but he keeps listening, “But I get it, yeah. The Kingpin is still pretty annoyed with me, I’m sure.”

“You wanna bet?”

That is E that is speaking. What is that about the Kingpin?

“Regardless, now that there is assuredly no emergency, when he answers the phone, tell him to have those guards stand down, or leave. It's bad enough that my car is, well, it won't be going anywhere for awhile.” That was the voice of the other man. The one with the strong hands that put him to sleep. Who.. or what, was he?

“I don't think he's going to do that until he knows your intentions, both of you,” E says, and he hears her sigh. “I still have to let him know at the very least that if we don't kill him now, he's not allowed near my home. I'm the valuable one to him, so it shouldn't be a problem, but that would mean the security cameras are all coming back on. Someone would know you both were here.”

“So? Just means we have to kill him,” Lester replies. 

Caleb takes a panicked breath, and one of the three detects his movement. Before anyone can say or do a thing, Caleb blurts out two phrases that he knows will do something to keep him alive.

He opens his eyes hesitantly, flinching backward. E has slumped to the ground once more, obediently. She is now fully dressed, her hair up in a messy ponytail. Lester, looking slightly worse for wear with a bruise or two and- is his jacket burnt?- is paralysed mid hand gesture. His faintly bloodshot blue eyes are wide in terror, and focus on Caleb. Poor Lester, he hates this so much; his greatest fear is to be paralyzed, so sending him into hypnagogic paralysis, well, it’s always a joy. 

The other man, however, is confused and somewhat caught off guard. Caleb’s eyes dart to his hands as he sees- what is he seeing? Claws coming out of his hands? They're like Wolverine's, almost. They're blackened, and two emerge from the spaces between his knuckles, and one from the joining point between his hand and wrist. He seems happy to use them, as he comes at Caleb faster than he can anticipate, stabbing the bed next to him, his other hand pinning Caleb to the bed by his throat. “I thought I told you to play nice.”

Caleb is stronger than the average bear, so to speak, and has just enough strength to keep this man from crushing his windpipe. “E, help me.” he chokes out, not sure it's loud enough for her to hear. She doesn't move. He screams it in his mind, hoping she picks it up telepathically by chance. Help! He's hurting me! Make him stop; I can't breathe! 

The man seems like he actually feels something now. He pulls back, looking behind him, and E has her hand flat in the middle of his back. 

Caleb tries to speak, and his voice is hoarse and tiny now. E can’t hear him, he has to speak clearly for his phrases to take effect. He tries to communicate with her telepathically again, if she can hear him, but he hears something else. 

“-llo? Hello? This is Wesley. E, are you there?” 

Shit! Caleb thinks, and hands shaking, he frantically scans the room for her cellphone. Upon finding it, he scrambles away, and holds the phone up to E. Please tell him to call off the backup. Tell Wesley you don’t need to speak with the boss. Assure him as you normally would that nothing is wrong. It’s all okay.

“Hi, Wesley,” E greets, “Yeah, everything is okay. Yeah. Really. Everything is okay now. Promise. Yup. Yeah, you can call em all back. Bullseye? No. No, you don’t have to worry about that. A job this Sunday? I’ll look at my schedule.”

Keep your hand on that man, sweetheart. You’re doing so well. Just keep deflecting Wesley. 

Caleb looks over and sees Lester still staring at him. He’s frozen in place, he can only move his eyes, blink, breathe, and swallow. Caleb smirks, feeling deeply satisfied. He walks around E, after picking her hand up so that she can hold the phone to her own ear, and approaches him as she continues to chat away as if nothing was wrong. “Boy, did you fuck up, Mister. I told you never to come back,” he chuckles, voice barely above a whisper. Caleb absently rubs at his sore neck, where there is already plenty of bruising going on. “You don’t have anything to say? Oh, I bet you do. Maybe I’ll let you talk after E is off the phone.”

He reaches out, poking the target-shaped scar on Lester’s forehead dead center. He doesn’t shut his eyes, just continues to stare daggers. The anger in his eyes, the pure loathing, is delicious. There was more, however; he could see the terror in Lester’s eyes. The cherry on top. 

Caleb breaks out in a peal of laughter, or tries to, and ends up in a coughing fit instead. Once he catches his breath, he reaches out and touches Lester’s face. This time, Lester does shut his eyes. There’s a tremor that goes through his whole body, and Caleb can see it. He swears he can almost hear a little whimper.

“Don’t be sassy with me; you’re lucky I let you move your eyes at all. In fact, now you have to keep them closed.”

He knows that inside Lester’s mind, he is screaming. He’s had his neck broken and been paralyzed many times, and they were all deeply traumatizing experiences for a man with such a big ego, a man so used to being in control. You strip away his bad attitude, his throwing arm, and he’s nothing but a scared little boy. Caleb strokes his face. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not gonna kill you, champ. I am, however, going to make good on my promise. You’re not gonna make this mistake again.”

~~~ * * * ~~~ 

The kids seemed to retreat back to their previous activities as soon as there were no more guns out. Bullseye could tell they were used to stuff like this. The blonde, E, put her headphones back on. She picked up the stuffed cat again, then settled back on the couch, curling into herself, and watched Bullseye out of the corner of her eye. Jax walked into the kitchen, heckling the boy, Caleb, about almost ruining dinner. He seemed to be at the bottom of the pecking order.

As soon as the bacon stopped smoking, Caleb was back out into the living room and checking on E. He seemed like he might have been in the middle of a conversation with her, one that she was reluctant to continue as she put both headphones over her ears upon seeing his approach. He bent down and said something softly to her. She stared at the floor, ignoring him. There was clear discomfort in her posture when he touched her shoulder in apparent apology.

He turned to Bullseye then, after it was clear he was getting the cold shoulder. He didn’t seem too discouraged; he extended a hand, smiling. Angel faced, blue eyes bright. “Let’s start over. I’m sorry I put a gun to your head.”

“Sorry I frightened the hell out of you; or am I?” Bullseye chuckled, and extended his own hand to shake Caleb’s.

Instead of shaking his hand, though, Caleb took his other hand and took Bullseye’s hand in his, turning his hand upward, and using his other hand ran his index and middle fingers along the middle of his palm toward his wrist. 

What the fuck, Lester thought, but in the startled confusion, Caleb’s voice was clear as he pulled him in just a little bit closer. Close enough to speak quietly and not be heard by Jax, who was in the kitchen making herself a plate of slightly scorched bacon and well-done eggs. She was busy cussing about not being able to find the Sriracha. 

“Listen.”

It’s a command, and it shattered any following thought in Bullseye’s mind. He listened.

“Listen to my voice. It’s the only thing you notice,” he whispered, “Now, notice your breathing. Let your next breath be deeper. Breathe deeper, breathe slow and even. Calm. You feel calm. You feel good, don’t you, Mister? You hear my voice. You want to listen to me and do what I say.”

He found himself agreeing. 

“I will be able to put you in this state whenever you hear me say the words ‘pulse echo’. You’re allowed to nod ‘yes’ and shake your head ‘no’. While you are in this state, you will be allowed to breathe, blink, and swallow, but you are not allowed to move otherwise. You’re only allowed to tell the truth, and you trust me completely. Okay?”

He nodded. 

“Now, you’re going to forget about this, but this is something you will remember every time I say those two words and put you into this state. We’ll be having little chats like this often. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” 

Bullseye shook his head. He was already able to tell that this would in fact not be fun for him at all.

“Now, tell me your real name. Give me your real name and any aliases you go by.”

“My name is Lester. I also go by the name Benjamin Poindexter and while in witness protection when I was a kid I used the name Leonard Wilkerson. Mainly, I am known by the trade name of Bullseye.”

Bullseye was the only name that mattered.

“Thank you. Do you have any family, Lester?”

“I have a brother in Idaho. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I have a father. He’s alive, and in NSA custody somewhere. I have a mother. She died last year. My foster father and I don’t talk anymore.”

Bullseye hated this, but he couldn’t stop it. The words were coming from his mouth and he had no control. He tried to move, to headbutt the fucker, to thrash, to even lift a finger, and couldn’t. Not an inch. His eyes were locked on Caleb in anger.

“Do you have anyone that would miss you if you died?”

Bullseye felt it like a punch to the gut when he responded quickly with a “No.”

Caleb giggled under his breath. It was a horrifying sound. “This was very fun. We’ll be talking more, but there isn’t much time right now. This will be so much fun. I’ve never hypnotized a complete stranger before, or another man. Whoa, is this exciting or what? Now, Lester, you’re going to forget that you and I had this little talk, or that anything happened other than us shaking hands as soon as I pull my hand back. You just lost your train of thought for a second, okay?”

Bullseye nodded in acknowledgement. 

Caleb pulled back, and pulled his hand away, smiling.

~~~ * * * ~~~

E is still on the phone, and it sounds like she’s setting up a new job for next Sunday. That’s lovely, Caleb thinks, There goes our fucking tea-time plans with Heather, Michael and Bailey. And I was looking forward to caviar and sour cream on toast points. 

He turns his focus back to the clawed mystery man. The claws on both of his hands are unsheathed, his knuckles just the slightest bit bloody. He’s staring right at him. It’s the look of the apex predator that has just happened upon lunch. He can definitely move now, Caleb notes, just barely. Caleb is watching as his fingers flex minutely. How is he doing that?

Caleb realizes things are moving faster than he can come up with solutions for, and he decides that now is definitely the time to make himself scarce. E, knock him out. Knock the man out, he commands.

E removes her hand from the man’s back, and somehow, he knows. He anticipates somehow, and falls to the side, out of the way. E’s hand continues the path it was on, and makes contact with Caleb’s side. He blacks out in a fraction of a second.

Daken, still on the floor, watches Caleb fall. He's tempted to rip him to pieces, but right now he has to worry about the other two. He grabs E’s leg, projecting the same pheromones at her that he did when she was naked on the floor and getting thrown around by her hair like a ragdoll. A mixture meant to trigger urgency, but also to soothe. Being put at this man's mercy not once, but twice, must to be taking a toll on her.

She takes notice fairly quickly, and shakes her head a little, eyes squeezed shut. She wraps up the phone call swiftly with a “Well, I know you're definitely a busy man. I'll let you get back to it. Thanks. Buhbye.” and closes the burner. 

Daken then takes note of Lester, who is still frozen and trembling. Daken can detect the scent of fear coming off of him heavily. 

E drops the phone, and grabs Lester’s shoulders. “Come on,” she says, shaking him a bit, “He's unconscious again, we're all safe but you have to wake up.”

He blinks twice, and feeling his body move, he has the sensation that he was zoning out for a few minutes. He does not remember what happened, but his arms are tired like he's been stiff for an extended period of time. He notices E in front of him, and then sees Daken standing up and Caleb on the ground instead of where he had been on the bed.

E tugs at Lester ’s jacket. “Come on. We have to move.”

“Are we running?” Daken asks, his posture and expression reminiscent of a very upset feline. His voice, however, doesn’t hold more than an ounce or so of it. “I’m not sure how we're going to do that. We have no car.”

E puts a finger up, and shifts over, looking out the window at their options. Both Daken, and Lester, who is still plenty out of it, see something in her head flick on like a lightswitch. She hesitantly goes back to Caleb, and digs into the pockets of his jeans. She pulls out his keys and stuffs them into the back pocket of her own jeans, and his wallet, pulling money out and pocketing it, as well as bending each of his credit cards out of shape for spite. She leaves the contents of his wallet and pockets scattered around him. 

“Start breaking stuff. We’re gonna make it look like a robbery and then take his car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you guys will get some serious satisfaction in the coming chapters if you're rooting for our brave assholes that have been under Caleb's thumb for so long. Sorry I'm posting them so spead-out. I'm making sure there's no continuity errors or plot holes and doing a bunch of polishing. This is not only just a fanfiction, it's my baby. I've also been stuck with Chapter 7 for a whole month because of depression and issues with my mental health, and *just* finished it, so I didn't want you guys to end up waiting forever for an update at a really critical point like I had left it off with..  
> I'm starting chapter 8 tonight after my D&D game. :D I'm back on my magic, so look forward to more bullshit for these three coming your way. I love all of my readers and I'm so glad you're enjoying yourselves. You help me keep creating and you give me something to keep going for.


	7. Chapter 6; Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE ESCAPE!  
> I took it to a fun place in this chapter.

Once E assures the two of them that it will be at least a few hours, if not a full ten or twelve before Caleb is conscious again, they set to work. E and Daken actually do most of the breaking. Daken has a thought before the mayhem begins, and picks up his cell phone. He calls a mechanic he trusts to arrange to have his car picked up before the cops showed up and started putting two and two together.  He’d have it fixed while they were on the lam. In the meantime, it just wouldn’t do to have a vehicle in his name in front of a crime scene, especially not one riddled with bullet holes; it would be impounded as evidence.

 

Lester’s hand is in his pocket, closed around the handle of his pocket knife. He stands there, immobile, glaring at Caleb.  He desperately tries to move forward and extend his arm and either slit the young man’s throat or plunge the blade into his heart, but his arm just won’t fucking move, no doubt a result of his hypnotic programming, and he suspects that E is unable to kill Caleb, either.  He can’t even ask Daken to do it for him, the signal from his brain to his mouth simply getting lost somewhere along the way. Finally, in an abject rage, and after wiping a few tears from his eyes, he releases his grip on the blade and sets about kicking over the dressers once Daken is off the phone.

 

Daken happily pulls the drawers out of every piece of furniture, and slashes up the mattress with his claws, while E throws a lamp on the floor, looking quite satisfied as it shatters.

 

Daken pulls out the top drawer of what appears to be Caleb’s dresser, and notes that at least fifty full syringes and tiny glass bottles (notably, of something that smells quite bad) tumble out, concerning him. Also sitting in the drawer are a small amount of packets of little pink pills shaped like diamonds, hearts, and little candies. He picks one capped syringe up, inspecting it. “What is this? Insulin?”

 

“I wasn’t allowed in any of his shit, sorry. Honestly, it’s all probably ketamine, opioids and Molly. He likes to shoot himself up or pop pills for fun. You know, cause of all the stress he’s under from being a fucked-up little narcissistic liar,” E says, sifting through his nightstand for something. She seems somewhat frantic as her search fails to quickly turn up what she is looking for.

 

Lester looks a bit green at her comment, but says nothing.

 

“What are you looking for?” Daken asks, watching her grow more frustrated in her search. “If it’s something you need, let me know. We’re going to have to trust each other eventually.” For good measure, he sends a very small amount of pheromones her way. It’s meant to be soothing, but it seems to have the opposite effect as she apparently detects the change rather quickly. She glares up at him from the floor. He puts his hands up in surrender. “That was my bad. I was trying to help you that time.”

 

“Do  _ not _ do that,  _ ever again, _ ” she growls, and continues digging through Caleb’s belongings. She sighs in frustration, as her tense muscles relax a bit due to the pheromones Daken never stopped sending her way. “I’m looking for my Klonopin, generic name clonazepam. It’s an orange prescription bottle with my name on it, little round white pills with a cut down the middle and the word ‘TEVA’ written on it in all caps on one side. The bottle should be almost full. There might be more than one bottle. I actually need to take one  _ now _ .” 

 

“Klonopin?” Daken asks, but is cut off by Lester leaving the room abruptly and heading into the bathroom. 

 

Both of them hear him vomiting violently. He returns a moment later, looking a bit pale. “I fucking hate him. I fucking hate this,” he spits.

 

“Why don’t you wait outside?” Daken says softly, and he walks over to Lester, touching his shoulder. 

 

Lester jerks away, looking like a frightened animal. He does, however, walk out of the room very quickly with a muttered “Gonna go break stuff.” Immediately from the hallway, there are sounds of crashing, as well as intermittent shouts and screams of frustration. 

 

Eventually, the shouts and cries sound less frustrated and more amused. Shattering and crashing is interspersed with laughter and the occasional cackle of joy.

 

E chews her lip, and in her evident distress, becomes a bit more frantic in her search. She tears apart the bathroom. Eventually, surrounded by shattered glass and expensive looking toiletries, she throws up her hands. “I’m not going to be able to find it. He probably keeps it locked up somewhere I’d never look.”

 

“What do you need it for? It’s an anti-anxiety medication, right?” Daken asks, this time uninterrupted. 

 

To both of their amusement, Caleb is now buried under a pile of his own clothing and accessories. Daken snickers.

 

“Well, these days, mostly to stave off the withdrawal. I’ve been on it since I was 13. Pretty high dosage,” she says, slamming the cabinet shut. She shuffles around the mess, and digs out her headphones and her phone, pulling a phone charger from the wall as well. “Unless you guys want to put up with me acting like I’m detoxing, we better find my pills before we go. Lester knows that even a couple of hours without them and things start to get… not great.”

 

E’s words are punctuated by the sounds of glass shattering from downstairs.

 

She smiles, but her expression is tainted with concern. “By the way, take whatever you want. I have to pack an outfit or two. We’ll be going to my safe house in New Jersey, unless you two have other plans. Also, I’d love to actually hear why you came looking for me,” she says, and retreats into a closet off to the right, emerging with a large leather knapsack-style backpack. She heads back into the bathroom first.

 

“If you have anything that one of your pills might have touched, I might be able to sniff them out,” he calls after her, walking out of the room and into the hallway.

 

“Might be a napkin and a glass on a desk in the office! One of them was on the napkin with a few other pills, dunno if they’re still there! Sometimes the help throws out my meds if I don’t take em!” she calls out to Daken in the hallway as she begins throwing her clothes and other necessities into the pack haphazardly.

 

Seeing the destruction Lester has left in his wake, Daken smirks. Maybe they should have tapered his medication in advance, after learning of the necessity of this trip. He looks in the doors of each room he passes, observing. The only one that Lester seemed to have left alone was the office. 

 

Daken ducks in, and sees exactly what was described to him. There is a glass of water, and a few untouched tablets sitting on a napkin. He takes stock of them. Two small, round, white ones. There’s a small green one there as well, but he doesn’t give it much attention. She didn’t mention it. He picks one of the white ones up, rolling it in between his fingers. 

 

The office has this other scent to it. Tangy, salty, and sharp, like an emotionally charged moment. Tears, too, probably. Lester had been there earlier, and so had E. 

Once he picks up the scent, he puts it back, calling down the hallway to E. “Found some. Looks like a couple were laid out for you. I touched one, hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Didn’t touch anything gross lately, did you?” she asks, rounding the corner out of the room with the pack slung over her shoulder, a cardigan on that wasn’t there before. 

 

“Just Heather, but I washed my hands afterwards, then soaped up my groin and burned  my clothes.” Her remark elicits a laugh from him, and his sarcastic response likewise earns laughter from E, who actually gives him half a smile. She’s actually somewhat charming when she isn’t stooping down to Lester’s level. He picks up the scent of those pills strongly from her, however. She must have been telling the truth about her dependency.  _ Must suck for her, if that’s true,  _ he thinks.   _ Most anti-anxiety meds double as anti-seizure meds, and they can even  _ cause _ them, or death, if you stop taking them suddenly, in a tolerant and dependant person.   _ It sounds like Lester isn’t the only one who should have been tapering off recently, but she couldn't have known.

 

Faintly, Daken detects the scent trailing down, back to the bedroom. He walks carefully around the mess, and follows it to the bedside table on the left side. It was left unflipped, as Daken had seen no need at the time, but the drawers were pulled out and dumped. The smell wasn’t coming from either drawer or their contents, though. He kneels down and looks inside the table, finding a bottle taped to the top of the inside, where the first drawer would have stopped. He rips the tape off, taking the bottle out and inspecting it. It was full. Good enough. This would hopefully last her until they got back to Manhattan. Then she was Norman’s problem.

 

He starts back down the hall, and hears voices downstairs. She must have already made her way down. Daken pauses a moment to listen in on whatever E and Lester could be saying to each other.

 

“-on’t know why you showed up here, but I’m really glad you did.” 

 

“Save it. I had almost gone through enough shit to forget about this fucking nightmare.”

 

“I know- but now it’s behind us forever, hopefully.”

 

“He’ll always be there in our heads. Even if we find some way to kill the son of a bitch, he will  _ always _ be there in our heads, E.”

 

_ Who knew this mind control shit could shake someone hardened like Lester so deeply?  _ Daken thinks, leaning against the wall.  _ Glad it’s not me. _

 

“Les, we can talk about this later, someplace safe. Right now, it’s time to go. I’m gonna call the police from my burner cell as soon as we leave, and they’re going to arrest him for all the drugs he’s got laying around. That gives us time to decide what comes next.”

 

Daken figures this a good time to interrupt. He descends the stairs into a room of broken glass and ceramic, splintered chairs, a very tense looking Lester, and a much calmer-looking E. “What comes next is, after this situation is resolved and we are sure we aren’t being followed, the three of us are taking a little field trip,” he says, holding up the bottle and catching E’s attention. “We came here to find you, yes, but Lester and I also have a mission to carry out. We can discuss that when we get to this safe house of yours, but I assure you that the next step after that isn’t optional.”

 

Daken heads out the door, amused by the fact that the black cars with the tinted windows, and all of the men with weapons, seem to have cleared out. There was his car, neatly parked next to Caleb’s, with the door hanging off the frame pathetically and more than a few bullet holes.. He takes a look at the little blue car that the three of them would be piling into for the next few hours and sighs.

 

“I'd like to hold onto those, please.” he hears from behind him. E walks up behind him, offering the keys and holding her hand out for the bottle of pills. “Can't drive. I had one seizure years ago, and Caleb convinced my doctor it was good enough grounds for them to revoke my license.”

 

Daken hesitates for a fraction of a second, wondering if he should be holding on to her medication. He decides he doesn’t want that much responsibility, and takes into account that Lester was right earlier. He does need her to trust him. At this point, especially. If things are going to come out in his favor, she has to be eating out of his fucking hand in at least a day. Besides, she’s probably aching for a taste of real autonomy, which is something he guesses she hasn’t had for years now. She isn't their prisoner, unless she chooses to make it that way. He accepts the keys, and hands her the bottle of pills, which she stuffs into her bag. 

 

Daken unlocks the car, and E shuffles into the back seat. Lester motions for Daken to pop the trunk, and he does, watching him stuff the blue duffle bag he re-entered the house with into it. Probably weapons and cash. He gets into the passenger side, already spacing out out the window, toward the quickly setting sun. It is already starting to get a little dark. Daken gets into the car, starting it up. It was a comfortable enough car, even if it felt a bit dated, and smelled a bit strange. Synthetic leather seats, a comfort-grip steering wheel cover, ashtray, from the days when cars still had cigarette lighters and ashtrays. 

 

There is also a brown Yankee candle air freshener marked ‘Leather’ hanging from the mirror. Daken watches as Lester tears it off and tosses it out the window, grimacing.

 

Before they go anywhere, E seems to come to a realization of some sort, after watching Lester. She leans forward, and rips a little white boxy-type thing out from the velcro strip that was holding it to the dashboard. She sits back down with it, rolling down her window. 

 

“What’s that?” Daken asks, confused.

 

“EZ Pass. For tolls on the expressway. He’d be able to track where we went with it attached,” she says, and chucks it hard out the window and into the grass in front of the gate. She rolls the window back up, and shivers as it’s beginning to get a bit cold. “Plus, you know- we’re better off paying cash anyway.”

 

“Didn’t even think of that.” Daken admits.

 

“You’re not from around here.” Lester scoffs, continuing to stare out the window. “Wherever the fuck we’re going, we should stop at a gas station for a fill up. I need cigarettes and I think we could all use some energy drinks; we have planning to do and we’re going to need clear heads.”

 

“Let’s do that first after we call the police, and before we get on the expressway. The corner store by the onramp has your brand- and I need some sour gummy worms. For therapeutic purposes. You should eat, too. You probably have low blood sugar at this point, after stress-puking like that,” E says as she wraps her cardigan around herself tighter. She gives a look of gratitude to Daken, who reaches down to turn on the heater. “I’ll navigate, since I know where we’re going.”

 

Daken pulls up to the pin pad at the gate, and E punches the code in one more time, hopefully for the final time. Daken takes a second to memorize the pin as he watches her type: 7-1-9-2.

 

The tow truck is waiting on the other side of the gate, and he tosses them his car keys through the window, giving them the code to get through the gate on their way out.  He hands the driver of the truck a hundred dollar bill for his trouble and discretion, and tells him he has fifteen minutes to clear out before he calls the police. “We were never here”, he says, “And neither were you. You just went for a drive.” The driver nods, knowingly, and pulls away, moving up the driveway towards Daken’s car.

 

Fifteen minutes later, while they’re on a long stretch of the access road out of the neighborhood, E pulls out her burner cell, and dials 911. She closes her eyes as it rings, and immediately takes on a very over-the-top valley-girl spoiled-bitch sort of dialect, one that Daken notes is a spot-on impression of Heather’s way of speaking, when she wasn’t moaning like a bitch in heat or yelling ‘Oh my god’ while he fucked her.  The only difference was that E sounded less drunk, and more distressed and mortified. 

 

“Yeah. I totally just saw someone breaking into my neighbor’s house. Like, I heard some gunshots, and I saw  _ a ton _ of guys going in and out. I was kind of hiding by my window just in case it was like, some sort of gang thing. Yeah. It’s 11 Heron Beach. The big house with, like, the scary gate and the brown and grey brick. Yeah, I’ll hold. Make sure they’re okay, okay?”

 

She doesn’t hold. Instead, she hangs up the phone, and tosses it out the window, into a ditch on the side of the road. Lester cannot contain his laughter after the phone is gone.

 

“What the fuck! You sounded like one of the fucking Wayans brothers in White Chicks!” he snickers, continuing to crack up. She looks proud. Daken rolls his eyes, and keeps driving.

 

E directs them to a little mom-and-pop gas-and-service station with a very Italian family name on the sign, about a half a mile from the onramp to county road 111 to the Long Island Expressway.

 

When they arrive at the station, E and Lester split immediately, leaving Daken to worry about pumping his own gas and how exactly to go about that.

 

E meanders to the back of the store, seeming to know exactly what she’s looking for. Not surprising, considering that she’s familiar with the place. Lester goes directly to the clerk, and puts down a hundred-dollar bill. He’s aware that he probably looks like hell right now with his burnt jacket and bloodshot eyes, and that his Yankees ballcap came off during the scuffle with Kingpin’s men so his target scar is definitely showing, but he can’t be arsed to care one bit. The sooner he gets what he needs, the better. “Lucky Strikes. They’re probably under the counter somewhere. Also, whatever she’s getting.” 

 

The clerk is a permanently-concerned-looking black teenager with a head of very big, natural hair, who is probably too young to be legally selling tobacco products, and finished already with these strangers and their white nonsense. She raises an eyebrow. “They’re probably stale, Mister. Nobody wanna pay fifteen dollars for a pack of old non-filters.”

 

Lester growls in annoyance. “I could _ not  _ care less right now. I actually could not. It’s been a hell of a day.”

 

“Okay,” she says, bending down and retrieving them. She squishes the pack a little between her fingers as she scans it with a hand-scanner. 

 

“Pack of matches or two as well, if you’ve got em,” Lester adds.

 

E emerges from the back of the store, with an armful of items held against her flat chest. A box of of six-pack wrappages of cheese crackers, a large bag of sour gummy worms, some chocolate covered peanuts, a few sodas each for the three of them, a six pack of beer, and assorted energy drinks: AMPs, NOSes, and Monsters. She also produces two or three bags of beef jerky, a pack of grape Big League Chew, earning a smile from Lester. 

 

As the teen begins ringing up their items, Daken walks in with the ticket from the gas pump. Lester gestures for him to come over, and he takes it from him, handing it to the clerk. “He’s with us.”

 

“I got you some cola. I didn’t know what you wanted.” E says to Daken, though most of her attention is taken up by the cream soda in her little pile.

 

Daken eyes the items the two of them have produced and rolls his eyes.  _ They eat like a couple of goddamn teenagers. _ He scans the store, eyes coming to rest on an energy drink in a refrigerated case near the checkstand that he would probably end up needing later on tonight. Rockit Fuel.  He grabs two, and sets them down with the rest of the items. 

 

The teen behind the counter’s eyes plead for mercy as the mountain of items she has to scan before these weirdos can leave only grows larger.

 

Finally she comes to the total, and most of that hundred dollar bill that Lester laid on the counter initially is eaten up. What’s left of it, E requests the change for in small bills. She reaches out and touches the girl’s hand with her own, and apologizes sincerely. The teen immediately seems both in a better mood, and more agreeable about the change, producing more singles from under her drawer. Both the boys are quite amused. They somehow come out of the situation with snacks for the road  _ and  _ money for toll booths. She even waves at her as they leave.

 

Lester lights up immediately once they are out of the gas station lot. After he finishes his cigarette and flicks it out the window, he dozes off with his head pressed against the glass. Daken glances over, an exhale of relief escaping him. Lester hasn’t slept in almost three days, so this is quite fortunate indeed. He was starting to get a bit cranky, if not slightly manic.

 

Most of the bags are sitting in the back of the car with E. She’s already cracked open a cream soda, and sips at it, watching the road and giving direction. Music is streaming from her headphones, which sit around her neck. She murmurs lyrics to herself during long pauses between her and Daken’s conversation, and occasionally holds one headphone up to her ear during some parts of certain songs, shutting her eyes. It sounds like more Latin pop, cut intermittently with what sounds like Cyndi Lauper or Mariah Carey. The screechy tones her headphones are emitting from playing at such a high volume irritate Daken’s ears. Eventually he makes an offer that she can just play her music out loud from her phone as long as it isn’t too loud, and she compromises with him obligingly. 

 

She dials down the music to a low level so as not to blast the car, erring on the side of caution before disconnecting her headphones, then cranks the music up to a level both she and Daken would consider reasonable, but not so high that it would wake Lester up.. Still, it seems enough to sate her. Daken tunes most of it out as it's not to his taste. It’s either 80s cuddlecore, or in Spanish. As expected, it doesn't wake Lester; he doesn't even stir. 

 

As Daken drives, out of the corner of his mind's eye as it were, he detects something else in his head. Sort of a timid, small presence, rummaging a bit through his thoughts. He assumes it is E, trying to find a way to entertain herself. He cannot push it out, so it lingers and draws on the knowledge he has of the last day or so. 

 

_ It's only fair. _

 

He swears he hears her speak, but she's stretched out in the back seat, watching the world outside her window.  Her mouth does not move when he hears it again.

 

_ You were trying to manipulate me seconds after we met,  _ her voice echoes in Daken’s mind, _ You've really got a thing about power dynamics. I'm wondering, though, why Lester listens to you so much. Something doesn't add up; just in case you haven't noticed, he has a serious problem with authority. _

 

He struggles to muster the will to form a response.  _ Don't ask questions you really don't want to know the answers to.  _

 

Daken can see her expression change. He feels the digging stop quite promptly when it reaches the night before Daken and Lester left for the Hamptons together. The presence shrinks but doesn't dissipate.  _ Well, shit, _ he hears once more, in the same un-voice.

 

Daken actually laughs aloud, and the sound startles Lester awake. He sits up groggily, glaring at him and mumbling an irritable “What the fuck?” 

 

E raises her eyebrows at Lester, and then turns her attention pointedly back out the window, saying nothing more. However, Daken, even in the dark, definitely notices that her cheeks are flushed red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY I HAVENT POSTED IN A MILLION YEARS I STILL LOVE YOU GUYS I HAVENT FORGOTTEN  
> There have been some good changes in my personal life that have left me in a more mentally healthy state.. which hasnt required me to lean so heavily on writing as a coping skill in the last few months.   
> I will be giving you more. I promise. Thank you for being so patient with me.


End file.
